Tangled Threads
by Jedi Holmes
Summary: On a mission to Appledoria, Jedi Knights Sherlock Holmes and Natasha Romanoff, partners for years, experience a brush with death that split their path in two. Prequel to 'Threads and Balance'. Multi-fandom AU.


**A/N: **Hello! Welcome to the second of our Star Wars crossover AU series (for more information about that as well as the authors, please go to our profile). This incorporates characters and ideas from the _BBC Sherlock, Supernatural, Marvel_, and (just a little bit of the) _Doctor Who_ universes. You don't have to be proficient in them all, even just one or two will do, we'll try to keep you up to speed as we go along, otherwise feel free to look up the character/reference on any of the respective wikis.

Please enjoy, let us know what you think, and stay tuned for more.

* * *

><p><strong>Tangled Threads<strong>

_Summary: Natasha and Sherlock's mission took place in Appledoria. A civilized planet run by a King and Queen who'd been targeted for elimination by an unknown third party. After three unsuccessful attempts on their lives by assassin droids, both Natasha and Sherlock were sent in to investigate._

_Upon reaching Appledoria, they slipped into their cover as was the norm. Sherlock chasing after clues, while Natasha analyzed the remains of the droids sent in to eliminate the King and Queen. Almost all data had been lost after the guards had taken the droids down, but Natasha managed to retrieve bits and pieces of information that Sherlock eventually put together. It led them to a compound in the outer reaches of the main city where they were captured by the small group of rebels. _

_They were forced to fight their way out, but not without Sherlock taking a nasty hit along the way._

* * *

><p>If there was ever a time when Natasha Romanoff found her balance, it was during battle. Only then did the Force flow through her unencumbered, guiding her movements like music to a dancer. She was fluid, quick, and precise. Disarming whenever possible, lethal whenever necessary.<p>

Never had that felt more necessary than she was dragging her bleeding partner, Sherlock Holmes, out of a rebel compound in the outer reaches of the main city of Appledoria.

"Six of them," she announced in a whisper as she pulled back from the corner. "Our way out is just past them, but we'll have to steal a landspeeder if we're gonna make it out of here alive." Her hand went to her double-bladed lightsaber as her eyes found his in the dim lighting. "Think you can manage?"

Sherlock wasn't doing well, in the most basic of terms. His breathing coming in short, shallow puffs of air, his blood coating his own hand and black robes as he attempted to staunch the flow from the deepest of his wounds. It hadn't been a blaster, no, that would have been kinder. An explosion and being at the wrong place at the wrong time had left him with a torso speckled with shrapnel. His face was pale in the dim light, his eyelids heavy, losing blood faster than he cared to think. His abilities with Accelerated Force Healing had never been particularly noteworthy, and even so, that required a quiet place to put himself into meditation. That was not going to be found here.

Somewhere deep down, he knew he was going to die. And logically, he really should have just told his partner to leave him and get to the ship on her own. The probability that she'd make it alive was much higher without him. But he couldn't die. He had John, his thirteen year old padawan. And he was hardly going to let his stuffy older brother take over John's training. He also knew Natasha would never ever leave him behind, not unless he was already dead. He wasn't ready for that quite yet.

So when she'd posed the question, his answer was a simple slow nod and the usual promise, whispered, because he wasn't sure he could do more. "I've got...your back."

"I know." Natasha reached up to briefly cup her partner's pale cheek with a deceptively steady hand. "Just stay with me, alright?"

The request had double meaning. 'Just stay with me', meaning 'stay close'. 'Just stay with me', meaning 'don't die'. It didn't escape Natasha that it was an illogical request to make. Sherlock had no more control over his death that she did, and that was the problem. It wasn't that they hadn't been hurt before. They had, and more than once. It was inevitable that they would, considering the nature of their missions. It was just that neither one of them had ever been hurt that bad. Not until now.

Her eyes didn't stray to look over his wounds, instead closing as she turned away to find her center. Something she hadn't done in a long while, but was necessary now under the circumstances. Mastering oneself was an absolute necessity if one was to properly wield a lightsaber and Natasha had always excelled at it, especially in difficult, violent, and sometimes-extreme conditions, thanks to her Master's rather unorthodox methods of teaching.

So she found her center, right then when emotions she'd purged long ago threatened to bubble up to the surface. Fear of losing her partner, anger at the ones who'd hurt him. She knew all too well where those emotions led, and she would never allow herself to walk that path. They had a job to do, padawans to train. Pinpointing where those emotions came from and embracing the light was the only way.

With a last calming breath, Natasha saved her thinking for after they'd survived their incoming confrontation and drew her lightsaber. Pure purple plasma extended from both sides of its hilt as they exited their cover and she twirled it easily in her hands. "Now," she announced to all six men, "we have business we need to get to, and you need to keep your limbs. There's room for compromise here." Pause. "Agreed?"

Sherlock attempted to stay close, one hand pressed against his abdomen, the other holding himself up against the wall. Honestly, he was surprised he was still standing. The men were ruthless killers, mercenaries. Hopefully, if they were smart enough, they would know going against a Jedi was not exactly how they wanted to spend the rest of the day. More accurately, the rest of their life. He could tell, he could always tell with her. They were too attuned to each other, after years of working together. She would do whatever it took to get him out alive. Which included dispatching these six individuals. Who, by the looks of it, didn't look smart enough to run away.

"Not likely, _whore_. You'll be coming with us." The man in the lead gestured to the other five, and six blasters raised. "Dead or alive."

"Giving me the option? How generous." Natasha said under her breath as she stilled the lightsaber in her hands and tucked the hilt beneath her arm, free hand held out in front. She closed her eyes and connected with the Force. "A shame I won't be so kind."

The blaster's lasers came fast but Natasha was faster, purple deflecting yellow as she moved forward and the mercenaries scrambled back. In the dim light of the compound's dingy halls, she could barely make out their features, but then she wasn't paying much attention. Her movements were quick and sharp. Efficient, not showy, because Sherlock was losing blood fast and she needed to be faster. Her heart pounded, her breaths came in slow, her feet barely made a sound as they flew over the ground.

A twist of her body and a twirl of her weapon brought her face to face with their leader and she wasted no time in taking him out. A smooth cut, and the body fell in two pieces to the floor. She stepped over him, taking another three men out before she could spare a glance for her partner close behind.

Sherlock's eyes had closed, he trusted her completely. With his life…and with his death apparently. Ripples through the Force let him know where she was, as she extinguished the idiots who had hindered their escape. He was leaning heavily against the wall, still hanging on though. It was logical, the sheer instinct to hold onto life was quite strong, and he'd put up with an extreme amount of pain if it meant staying alive, not letting her down. Oh he really didn't feel good. There was another one, a mercenary they hadn't accounted for. Sherlock could feel her sneaking up from behind them, but his weak grab for his lightsaber wasn't going to be enough. "Nnnat." He called softly.

"On it." Natasha dispatched the man in front of her with a last swipe of her lightsaber before moving on the one sneaking up behind them. Two quick slices, and that one crumpled on the ground just as she deactivated her weapon. Her arm was tightly wound around Sherlock's waist in seconds, and she was moving with him towards the door. "We're almost there," she said quietly. "Just hold on."

They burst through the door into tepid Appledorian air, just as nighttime was falling over the deserted terrain. Whatever mercenaries were left to stand guard outside had already scattered if the mess of footprints on the ground was anything to go by. The guards would have to be put on notice so they could find them, but Natasha barely spared a thought for it as she half carried a bleeding Sherlock to the Arrow-23 landspeeder not too far ahead. A stolen vehicle, no doubt.

With some effort, Natasha pulled him inside and settled him into the co-pilot seat, after which she moved to the controls to close the hatch. "They have healers back at the city," Natasha spoke, more for her benefit than for his. "We'll go there first and I'll let the guards know what we found afterwards, okay?"

Her hands moved swiftly over buttons and switches, and it was only when she stopped that she noticed they were shaking. She balled them into fists and sat in the pilot seat. "Say something," she ordered. "Anything, just let me hear you."

"You're…bossy." Eyes closed, Sherlock had collapsed into the seat, hands not even bothering to try to staunch the blood flow at this point. His transport was failing, he knew that, she knew that. His only question was why she was working so hard to get him out alive. But he really couldn't be bothered to think about that right now. He was cold, numb, and craving sleep. He was out of balance, his grip on the Force slipping, or maybe it was getting stronger? Either way, he had things to say first. "Nat…I'm sorry.…I don't think…gonna make it."

"Don't say that!" Natasha snapped, already working on activating the repulsors that would get them off the ground. "You can't leave me, Sherlock. Not yet, I won't let you." Her voice broke on the last word and she drew in a shaky breath. Her voice was quiet and steady when she spoke next. Too quiet, too steady. "You'll make it because I'm telling you you'll make it, now how's that for bossy?"

A few quick preparations, and they were heading back to the city at full speed; Natasha's hands holding the controls in a white-knuckled grip, her features set in grim determination. Losing him was not an option. Not for her. There was too much history. They'd been through too much. Told each other too much. Trusted each other too much. It was difficult to imagine what life would be like without him beside her. Silent, thoughtful and methodical one moment; smiling, laughing and teasing her the next.

Her chest tightened painfully and her breath hitched at the thought of it, but then that was to be expected when faced with the possibility of losing someone you loved. The realization hit her so forcefully she gasped, but there was little time for her to come to grips with it. They'd arrived at the city, and she was landing the speeder and jumping out of her seat to help him out of his.

"We're here," she said tightly. "Come on."

After her instance, Sherlock didn't speak again. There were things to say, years of working together, of course there were things to say. But if she didn't want to hear it, he wasn't going to say anything. He wasn't sure he had the strength to protest. He'd rested his head against the back of the seat, trying simply to keep breathing.

The journey was a bit of a blur for him, he was slipping. Letting the Force flow through him, he tried a deep inhale. Jedi were taught to not fear death, it was a natural part of their lifecycle. Still…he was afraid, afraid of the hole he'd leave behind. For the people he'd leave behind especially. The woman pulling him out of the speeder, fighting everything to keep him alive, he couldn't leave her behind. The young padawan he'd left at the Temple, he couldn't leave him behind either.

He gasped, her arms pulling him upright. As much as he wanted to live…his body was still failing. "Nat…I'mm trying…I just can't."

"Yes you can!" Natasha insisted, following the statement with a string of Russian curses as she took as much of his weight as she could handle. "I'm not losing you here, Sherlock. I _can't_. I _won't_."

As soon as they were out of the speeder, they were met with a gaggle of palace guards. Natasha didn't waste any time, keeping a tight hold on her partner as she issued orders in a less than friendly tone. Stunned at first, it took only a look from her and they scattered. Some to find the healers she'd requested, some to go after the few stray mercenaries that were still out there. She circled another arm around him to keep him upright while they waited and closed her eyes.

"If you die on me..." The words died on her lips when she realized exactly how problematic they were. She should've been focused on their mission, on the padawans waiting for them back home, on the things any Jedi would've focused on in her position. As it was, she could only focus on him, on keeping him alive, and safe, and killing every last mercenary with her bare hands. Very problematic. She rested her forehead against him, but a moment later he was being pulled out of her arms.

"We need to take him," a female voice told her quietly.

"Nat…" Sherlock said simply, slowly collapsing into the carrier they had provided. Clear blue eyes had opened, blinking tiredly a couple times as he tired to focus on Natasha's face. "Sorry…I…lo…" His words were lost as his eyes closed and his body slumped.

"He's coding." The female healer said, her voice changing from quiet to a bit more insistent "Respirator, now. Bring the defibrillator. I need the OR ready to go. Ready the bacta tank…" The rest of the instructions were lost in a flurry of motion of the four other medical personal.

One man was already pushing the carrier towards the infirmary, the female healer already pressing the paddles to Sherlock's exposed skin. His limp body jumped with the electric charge, the healer shouting out more instructions as they disappeared into a room.

"What..." Natasha began, but his eyes were closed already, and he was being wheeled away from her. She followed behind until a small hand settled on her shoulder and squeezed.

"We will take care of him, but you can't come with us," another female healer said gently. "Perhaps you should..."

"He's my partner," Natasha said flatly, fixing the woman with a steely look. "I'm coming with him."

The healer's lips set into a disapproving line and she withdrew her hand. Natasha straightened and briefly closed her eyes to find her center. "I'm sorry," she apologized after a moment. "You'll keep me updated about his condition, yes?"

"Yes, of course," the healer agreed quickly, eyes flitting anxiously towards the door everyone else had disappeared through.

"Go," Natasha ordered, turning in place once the woman had disappeared. There was nothing to do but wait, and she paced in place for a few seconds before finally turning on her heel and marching down to their appointed sleeping quarters. Once behind closed doors, she removed her cloak, pressed her back against the door and slid to the ground.

The tears came easily then, and she wiped them away with bloody hands, unknowingly smearing her face with _red_. Finally noticing, she sniffled loudly and rose gracefully to her feet, silently making her way to the refresher for a bath. A long while later, she was scrubbed clean and dressed, pacing a line into the ground. News couldn't come too soon.

Hours passed, hours that turned into a day, then another day. But eventually Sherlock woke up, it was brief, and he was nearly alone save for a young nurse. His brain caught very little of what she was chatting about, something about nearly dying, and his partner. His open eyes blinking a few times as he tried to figure out where he was and what had happened. The memories came back to him slowly, just as his body was registering the pain again. The nurse got really excited and rushed out of the room, saying something again about finding his partner. Caring very little for that, Sherlock slipped away, drifting off to sleep again. The next time he'd wake up, he'd see a more familiar and welcome face, hopefully.

Sherlock was out two days, and Natasha had all but harassed the medical staff about updates until they'd banned her from returning altogether. To pass the time, she'd taken care of things with the Council, at least until they could meet with them in person, and worked with the guards to apprehend the remaining mercenaries. It had taken all her training to keep from giving them each a slow, painful death.

There was a brief communication with both their padawans where she'd given no details about Sherlock's condition, but soon she'd run out of things to do except try, repeatedly, and fail, repeatedly, to meditate. The knock on the door was a welcome interruption, and she quickly made her way over to answer it.

The words were only half out of the woman's mouth, before she was hastily making her way to the newly awakened Sherlock. On the outside, she was calm and composed, but underneath it was an entirely different story. It didn't help that when she finally reached his room, he was no longer awake, but now she could wait with him. And so she did, until he finally opened his eyes.

Her hands were on either side of his face in a flash, forehead pressed against his and eyes closed. "You scared me half to death," she admitted with a shaky whisper. "Don't do that again. Ever."

Sherlock let out a small groan and closed his eyes again, taking a moment. The pain level was tolerable, his body healing and out of danger. One of his hands, thin from the days recovering from nearly dying, reached up and touched her side, attempting to awkwardly comfort her. He moved the hand to hold her head instead, gently running fingers through her loose red hair. "I'll do my best." He said and drew in a deep breath, accidentally bumping his nose with hers, causing him to nearly smile. "But no promises."

Natasha smiled for the first time in days, and purposely bumped their noses together one more time. She'd spent hours thinking non-stop about the nature of her newly-discovered feelings, wondering when they'd started, why she'd never paid them sufficient attention, how she was going to put them aside, or even if she wanted to put them aside. It was _tempting_. So very tempting.

They were close enough that she only needed to tilt her head and lean in just a little to catch his lips. Briefly she wondered what it'd feel like to kiss him. How he'd react, how he would taste. Kissing wasn't something she'd done before, she rarely let anyone else come near her besides Sherlock and her padawan, let alone allow anyone to touch her. A remnant of her training, naturally, but now that she'd admitted to herself she loved him she couldn't help but recognize what she was feeling and she craved the intimate contact. Her smile faltered. "Sherlock, I..." It took all her willpower to pull back. Not too far away, just enough that she could meet his eyes. "I'm glad you're alive."

"You and me both." Sherlock said, opening clear blue eyes and giving her a bit of a smile. "Someone has to watch your back." His hand went through her hair again, making quick deductions as to her state the days he was unconscious. It had him slightly worried, but he wasn't sure why. He also wasn't terribly sure why he really wanted her as close as possible. Could be the fact she'd saved his life, so that's what he settled on. Onto business, as usual. "Status update?"

"The mercenaries were apprehended, and I spoke with the Council," Natasha answered quickly, closing her eyes as he ran his fingers through her hair. "They'll want a full report once you're up and moving, but they're satisfied with what I gave them for now. King and Queen are safe, we're cleared to leave as soon as you're ready." There was something else she needed to tell him, and it was as painful to think about as it was to say out loud. Her features betrayed nothing, but Sherlock would know. He always knew with her. She opened her eyes and searched his face. "I... also asked to be given only solo missions from now on," she said quietly, staying close because now more than ever she wasn't ready to pull away. "Not forever, just for a while."

"What?" Sherlock's brow pinched, his eyes blinking as he attempted to understand through the round of pain medications they'd just administered. He slipped his hand away from her hair, crossing it over the bandages on his chest. Feeling more than a little bit betrayed, which was probably evident in his voice. "You….what?…I'll be fine, in a couple weeks I'll be back to mission ready. You…you can't just leave me behind because I got blown up."

Natasha wasn't ready for him to pull away from her, she still wanted him close. Closer than they were at that moment, closer than it was probably allowed, but she'd have to settle for what she could get under the circumstances. "I'm not leaving you behind because you got blown up. I know that's not your fault, and I'm not blaming you," she explained, the words barely making it out of her suddenly tight throat. "I'm leaving because of me, I've..." She moved in closer and reached for his hand. She pressed it against her cheek, closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. "I've been compromised."

"Compromised?" Sherlock asked sharply, but didn't resist as she took his hand. "You…you saved my life, Nat. You got me out, despite my resistant nature. Anyone else would have left me behind if I asked them to." He softened slightly, his tone lowering as he observed her. The hand she'd pressed to her cheek stirred and his thumb stroked her cheekbone. "I've…I've always got your back, and I...I can't do that if you walk away."

Natasha couldn't tell him. As much as she wanted to, she simply couldn't push the words past her lips. There was no room for love as long as she was a Jedi, not the kind of love she felt for him. Those feelings she'd experienced when he'd been hurt and on the brink of death. Fear, anger, hate, and a sudden urge for vengeance. All of them led down a path she simply couldn't walk. It would hurt him more than their separation could ever hurt him now, not to mention the young girl waiting for her back at Coruscant.

When she reopened her eyes, they were red-rimmed and bright with unshed tears. "I know you've got my back. You always have my back. It's just me, I'm-" She shook her head, meeting his eyes for a second before nudging him to the side and tucking herself beside him on the bed. She'd closed the door before and drawn the blinds so they'd have privacy. Inappropriate, to say the least, but she felt like he was slipping away from her and she wasn't ready. "I just need time."

Sherlock was surprised by the move, but it was definitely not unwelcome. He was more than a little confused. Deductively, he was getting one thing. But her words were telling him another. He was hurt, certainly, as well as confused. But he inhaled deeply and decided to dismiss that emotion for the moment. He, despite behind nearly naked aside from the blankets and bandages, wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close as comfortably possible. Product of what they went through and their close partnership, he decided it was, properly categorizing it and storing it in his head. "As long as it's not forever." He, uncharacteristically, pressed a kiss to her forehead. "No one else will work with me."

"It's not forever," Natasha promised, mistakenly thinking her feelings would weaken over time. Later on she'd realize how wrong she was. Her feelings for Sherlock would never weaken. Not with time, and not with space, but in that moment she clung to hope. "I'll let you know when I'm ready," she continued, gently wrapping an arm around what she just now was realizing was his bare chest and tilting her head back to look at him. "Just try not to anger anyone else and you should be fine. Who knows? Maybe you'll find a new partner and forget all about me," she teased half-heartedly.

"Right, since there's so many jumping to work with me. It's definitely going to happen." Sherlock snarked sarcastically, but put a hand on her arm, relishing in the naturalness of their position. "You, Natasha Romanoff, are unforgettable."

"That's quite a compliment from someone who deletes information almost daily," Natasha replied with a smile. Soft green eyes scanned his face and her smile widened momentarily. "You're pretty unforgettable yourself, you know that?" Her eyes flitted down to his lips and she looked away, convinced her more than likely dilated pupils would give her away. It didn't escape her that they'd likely been just as dilated before, only now she was self-conscious about the whole thing. "Just promise me you'll be safe, okay? Sometimes you get so wrapped up inside your head, you barely notice I'm there." She rested her head on his shoulder. "Don't do that when it's dangerous."

"I'll try. But you know, if I die on a solo mission, you'll never forgive yourself…. Because it'd be just the same with me." Sherlock said, glancing as she looked away, but then looked back up at the celling. "But John's getting good at keeping me focused when things are important or dangerous. I swear you've been talking to him."

"Maybe," Natasha said vaguely, but there was a hint of humor in her voice. "You need someone to keep you focused and I can't always be with you." Especially not now, but she pushed the painful thought aside. "I don't have tell him much, though. He's very intuitive when it comes to you. He just knows." She looked at him again, studying his profile as he stared up at the ceiling. "You're very good with him too, you know. You're good for each other."

"Apparently this is the way to get a bunch of compliments from you, get blown up. I'll keep that in mind if I get desperate." Sherlock attempted a joke, running his hand lightly over her arm. He turned to face her, mindful of how close they were, but not really noticing the effects of it. "But thank you, I wasn't sure…and even now, two years into it, I still don't know what I'm doing exactly." He paused. "You're good for me too, Nat."

"Then we're good for each other," Natasha said quietly, leaning in and briefly brushing his nose with hers. "If you do get desperate for compliments, though, don't get blown up. I'm just a call away and more than happy to dole out a few if it'll keep you from dying." She closed her eyes and breathed in deep. "I should get up before someone barges in through that door to check on you."

"Don't." The response was out before Sherlock could think about it, and there was a bit of a pause as he collected his thoughts for a proper argument. "They aren't due for at least another hour, as my vitals are stable. You can stay, I don't want you to get up."

Of course, that wasn't the real reason Natasha needed to put some distance between them. The real reason was that she would more than likely wind up doing something she very much wanted to do, but shouldn't. _Couldn't,_ she corrected quickly, but it wasn't enough get her out of the bed. Instead she relaxed against him and moved in closer, their lips just inches from each other. "Okay," she agreed. "I'll stay. For an hour." She trailed a hand over his chest, carefully avoiding the bandaged wounds. "Did they say when you'd be able to get out of bed and go home?"

"They said something about a couple days, but I'm sure I'll be ready to go tonight or tomorrow. We can sneak out." Sherlock said with a nearly impish smile. "You know me, I'm ready to be on our way again." He paused. "Does John know what happened? Molly?"

"I talked to them, but didn't give them any details. They at least know that something went wrong." Natasha paused any movements with her hand, already considering the idea of sneaking out. If she only had a little time left with him before she was sent on her next solo mission, she didn't want to spend them in a hospital. "How bad are your injuries right now?"

"Manageable." Sherlock said, giving her a thoughtful look. Mostly truth. He wasn't sure he'd suffered a call that close, but the healers here were skilled and he was sure he was on the mend. Plus he was anxious to get back to the Temple. See John again, be home. Even if it meant a lecture from his brother and an appointment with the Jedi Healers, he was ready to be off of this planet. "I can make it back to the Temple, I'm quite sure."

Natasha smiled, leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek and spoke close to his ear. "I'll go get your robes," she said, before sitting up and swinging her legs over the side. She leaned back in when she was on her feet, bracing both hands on either side of him. "You did say they'd be back in an hour, correct? Let's try to be out of here by then."

"Deal." Sherlock said, smiling up at her, inexplicably mesmerized by her sharp green eyes. "We have bacta and morphine in the medkit?" He asked after a moment. "I'd rather not steal from them if we don't have to."

"We do, we don't have to steal," Natasha assured him with a nod and another smile. Her eyes met his, and she took a moment to study his face, bright blue eyes and a smile as if he hadn't been close to death just a couple of days before. Again he was so close, and again it was so easy, so tempting, so incredibly possible it was a wonder she'd held back the first time. "Do you trust me?"

"Completely. With my life." Sherlock said immediately and without hesitation, attempting to get a read on her. While they were incredibly close as partners and he was able to note even the smallest of clues, certain things still escaped him about her behavior. She made deductions a challenge, which he always appreciated. He blinked twice, tilting his head on the pillow just slightly. "Why?"

Every inch of her pleaded with her to do it. Just once, just once, just _once_, her head all but screamed. _There_, where they could leave it behind and never speak of it again if they didn't want to. _Right then_, because they were leaving and things between them were bound to change with their separation, no matter how many times they saw each other between missions. _And only then_, because at no other time would she be able to lie her way through justification after justification, and still have a chance of it being even remotely believable. Whatever happened next, her feelings were one thing he simply couldn't know about. Not now, and not ever.

Swift and graceful, she crawled into the bed with him and leaned in further. Just enough for their noses to brush against each other. "You'll forget it happened," she ordered in a quiet but shaky voice. "Compartmentalize, delete it, whatever you need to do." Her hands moved to his shoulders, trailing over the bare skin of his neck until they settled on either side of his head. "Okay?" But she didn't give him a chance to reply. Instead, she leaned in and slowly kissed him full on the lips.

For being a genius, Sherlock Holmes could be a bit thick, John had always told him that. Because there was no way he'd seen that coming. Maybe deep in the instinctual side of his mind, but no in the overwhelming forefront of his logical thought process. His partner, the woman who'd saved his life just a few days ago for the umpteenth time, was kissing him. Now, obviously he'd done research on the subject, to better understand interactions between different beings and traditions between cultures and world. Kissing seemed to be a fairly common and widespread tradition of love, affection, and pleasure. It was something he'd never thought he'd be experiencing, after swearing a life to the Jedi. And honestly, it hadn't really been that much of a sacrifice, having never done it before. But, boy, wasn't he doing it now.

After getting over the initial shock, his eyes closed and his hands moved to cup her face, one slipping back behind her head and running long fingers through her hair. His body acting with that instinct as he kissed her back, not really caring about the oddness of it. Her lips were soft, and comforting, and sending thousands of signals to his brain. And against all of his training…he found he enjoyed it.

Natasha knew very little about kissing, the mechanics of it melding into a jumble of words and images she'd caught glimpses of at one point or another and forgotten just as quickly. In truth, her knowledge was limited to two very simple but very basic things. Kissing existed, and people enjoyed it. Other people, not Jedi.

So when she'd finally pressed her lips against Sherlock's in what was supposed to be a kiss, she wasn't sure what to expect or what came next. The intimate contact alone was enjoyable and enough for her. There didn't have to be anything else.

But then his lips were moving against hers, hands on her skin and in her hair. Her eyes opened briefly in surprise, but just as quickly fluttered closed as instinct took over and she kissed him back, reciprocating every move with one of her own. His fingers slipped through long, red hair, and she tangled hers in his curls; his hand cupped her cheek, and she trailed gentle fingers down his side. They moved together and she couldn't help comparing it to sparring, to battle. Like a dance, but better.

Eventually when she found herself pressing her body closer, wanting something she wasn't sure she was ready for, she stopped and pulled back. Breathing ragged and shaky. Pupils blown black. "Delete it," she said between breaths, eyes searching his face only for a moment before she was off the bed and hurrying towards the door. "I'll get your robes."

Sherlock was panting and no time to say anything by the time she slipped out the door. His heart was racing, obvious by the beeps of the heart monitor he'd been attached too for the last two days. Drawing in a slow breath, he shifted on the bed, trying to decide how to understand what had just happened to him, or more accurately, between them. He placed his hand over his eyes, his normally quick mind sluggishly slow in between the pain medication and the…kiss.

She told him to delete it…but he didn't really want to. So, for the moment and until he could properly think about it, he stored it away. They had to get out of there first.

It took a second, but eventually he pulled himself to a sitting position and carefully began taking off the various monitors that were connected to him. The intravenous line he handled with care (because only idiots rip the catheter out of their vein) and eventually, he wrapped himself in the sheet and made a valid attempt to stand.

Natasha didn't linger in their sleeping quarters longer than was necessary. They'd brought very few things with them, as they usually did. What was necessary and nothing else. So she moved around the space, methodically packing everything before taking one last look around to make sure nothing was missed. It was only then she caught sight of herself in a mirror and she took a step closer.

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright, and her hair was wild from fingers eagerly running through it. She dropped everything and quickly pulled her hair into the long red braid she usually wore before sinking to the floor and covering her face with her hands. It was wrong. What she'd done was wrong, wrong, wrong, but she wanted more.

"But I can't have more," she told herself firmly and out loud, hoping that hearing it would make it final. "I can't. I can't."

She lowered her hands and reached for their things before rising to her feet and slipping out the door in a blur of red and black. A while later, she was sneaking back into Sherlock's room and closing the door behind her. "Here," she threw his robes on the bed, but kept his lightsaber in her hand to give to him after he was dressed. "I got everything else, we can go straight to the ship from here."

"Good." Sherlock said, turning to grab his clothes. He took his cue from her, putting it all away…for the moment. He had quite a few questions, but it was time they were on their way. He unwrapped himself from the sheet, modesty had never been something he particularly paid attention to, and then started putting his clothes back on. His extra set of robes, as he was sure the healers had cut off his bloody blown up ones and thrown them in a bin.

He straightened up slowly, his body still protesting the movement a bit. He was sure he'd get an earful from the Jedi Healers. They usually had a lot to say about his affinity for getting in trouble, and that John was beginning basic training with them…He made a bit of a face. Never mind that. Once dressed completely, he held out his hand, as if to grab his lightsaber, but instead caught her hand instead. There was a minor hesitation before he asked. "Do you trust me?"

"Completely. With my life." Natasha answered immediately, using the same words he'd used with her before. Green eyes searched his face and her brows furrowed slightly. She couldn't read him, and it set her on edge. "Why?"

Once standing and back in his boots, Sherlock stood a good eight inches taller than she did, and his brain took the split second to analyze if bending over like that would be possible with his injuries. Deducing it would be, he decided to proceed. With his free hand, he took his black and silver lightsaber back, putting it on his belt in a practiced motion. Once that hand was free again, he moved it up to gently hold her face, his thumb caressing a short pattern over her cheekbone. She was confused, on edge, but the signs were there, pupils dilated, elevated heart rate. Things he'd observed in himself. He'd delete this…or at least box it up away only to be remembered in the direst of circumstances. But he wanted to try again, a repeat experiment with her. So he leaned in and kissed her again confidently.

Natasha breathed in deep, eyes fluttering closed as she reached out with her free hand to curl her fingers into the fabric of his black robe. She pulled on it lightly to bring him closer, again knowing she wanted more but unsure of what that entailed. It didn't matter. Not right then. Not with his lips moving so confidently against hers. She pulled on his robe again, in more insistently as she was used both hands to bring him flush against her body. Instinct telling her to stand a little taller, move in a little closer, lean in a little further... but it wasn't enough, and impatience getting the better of her, she reached up and twined both arms around his neck to pull herself up and deepen the kiss.

So she pulled on his robe again, more insistently this time as she used both hands to bring him flush against her body. Instinct telling her to stand a little taller, move in a little closer, lean in a little further... but it wasn't enough, and impatience getting the better of her, she reached up and twined both arms around his neck to pull herself up and deepen the kiss.

The experiment had been a success, and he was reaping the physical and mental benefits from it. Logically…he was enjoy this, just as he had the first one. Made sense to do it again. He'd read the Code, (for his studies, not for pleasure). It was not written that physical actions such as this were not permitted…just the passionate love that came with this sort of attachment. Most of the Code was simple understood unwritten law. Which was a bit annoying. He could box up the feelings, it's what his mind was built for, which his training had made him into. She was the same. And they'd leave this room and properly compartmentalize what had happened and move on. She'd already made it clear she wanted solo missions. He'd move on, training with John would reach the next step.

His brain working at the speed of light, he shut away everything to think about later and just turned it all off. Done so that he could enjoy her, the feel of her body against his, the way she responded to his touch, even as he trailed hands down her sides. Exploring, feeling, balancing, making sure she didn't suddenly decide to pull away. Suddenly he was moving, pushing her back against the wall. He pulled away for a quick second, tilted his head the other direction and dove back in.

Natasha was overwhelmed with feeling. His lips, his hands, his body pinning her against the wall, the surface hard and unyielding but unimportant in light of everything else. Her hands slipped into his hair, fingers tightening in his curls before she loosened her hold and lowered them to his shoulders. They trailed down over his chest, his sides, needing to feel every inch of him but not knowing where to start. It was amazing and frustrating all at once. Wanting something, but not knowing how to get it. After a moment, she broke the kiss for a breathless request. "Pick me up," she asked in a low voice, green eyes only half open as she stared into his.

Sherlock was more than a little confused at the request, his brow furrowing as he studied her face. It took a second of contemplation and analysis, but he figured out how to do it. Hands went to her waist and he lifted, pressing her back against the wall as he got a good hold on her and her legs wrapped around his waist. Certainly not the first time he'd lifted her up, and she wasn't very heavy, so aggravation of his injuries was minimal. The impulses being sent to his brain nearly negated the pain, so he was fine with it. Upon completing the task, he discovered the reason why. Got rid of the height equation, and made access to her a lot easier. So he kissed her with a renewed enthusiasm, deducing the proper way to go about it. Or at least what worked with her. His mind briefly considered how a different person would react, but he quickly dismissed it as unimportant. Hands explored her body on their own and he kissed her fiercely.

Satisfied with he change, Natasha resumed her own eager explorations with her hands. He was all muscle beneath his clothes, she knew that not only from seeing it but from feeling it on numerous occasions when they'd sparred. This time she wanted to see and feel for different reasons, and briefly she wondered about the change but pushed it aside. Hesitantly, she slipped her hands down his neck and beneath his robe to touch warm skin, pulling back only to follow the same trail with her lips.

Sherlock was confused. Again. Fairly common for the day, and he was starting to get used to the feeling. He tilted his head, stilling his hands on her for a moment as he tried to wrap his head around what had happened. They still had about half an hour before the change of shift had a new nurse popping her head in to see him. And while he could likely spend the next thirty minutes exploring her body, he wasn't sure they should…his brain was finally catching up. Until her lips hit a pressure point and he let out a little gasp. "Nat…" He said, his voice coming out lower than he thought it would.

Natasha stopped, panting against his skin before finally pulling back to meet his eyes. "What?" She asked breathlessly, brows pulling together in confusion. It was a day of firsts for her, but it was likely a day of firsts for both of them and trial and error seemed to be the order of the day. "Should I stop? I... haven't done this before," she admitted in a low voice that mirrored his. "I'm not sure what's right."

Sherlock wanted to snatch her up in another kiss, reassure her, get rid of that confusion. Which was odd…and he attributed it to the experience and his instinctual side. No, they had to box it away, they couldn't do this. It was against everything they were, the Jedi Order. "No…yes…I don't know." Sherlock shook his head. "We have to go." He said simply, loosening his grip on her to help her back down to the ground with a small groan of pain. "I'm sorry."

Natasha landed gracefully on the ground and after a moment of studying his face, she quickly averted her eyes. "Don't apologize," she said firmly, straightening her clothes but hesitating in place.

Every inch of her was pleading with her not to go, to stay, to pull him close again, to continue with whatever they'd started just a moment before. If it were entirely physical, Natasha likely would've. It wasn't exactly forbidden, and evidently her body was more than willing... but her heart, figuratively speaking, was a different story.

Inevitably, the questions began to circle inside her head. Was it just her, or was it the same for him? Was this all pure curiosity on his part, or something else? Did he want _her_, or could she have been any other woman and it wouldn't have mattered? Questions for another time, because Sherlock was right. They needed to leave.

Her eyes looked him over again, and she moved to gather their things, deliberately turning her face away from him to hide the range of emotions she was experiencing. "Did it make your injuries worse?"

"I'm fine." Sherlock said too quickly, reaching for his cloak from the bag she'd repacked. Throwing it on in the usual dramatic manner, he gave her a quick once over as her back was turned to him. His brow pinched, attempting to understand, even as he brain processed it and stored it away for later. He needed time to organize, figure out if that was something he'd delete or keep. Deductions had been there, her reaction, but he wasn't sure why she'd reacted like that. Some kind of forbidden attachment? "Let's just go, we'll talk once we're on our way."

"That was a quick answer," Natasha replied, slipping on her usual composed expression before she faced him again. "I'll take a look at it later, if you need me to," she offered, turning away to open the door and poke her head out into the corridor. Coast clear, she motioned for him to follow and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head.

Simplification was in order if they were going to 'talk' once they were on their way, the jumble of feelings inside of her simply wouldn't do. Under perfect circumstances, she would've been alone for that part but she was with him and would continue to be with him for the duration of their journey. All twenty-three hours of it.

So she kept quiet while they made their way back to their cruiser, mentally going over what she knew, what she didn't, and how she'd proceed. She loved him, that much she could admit to herself. She'd also kissed him, and he'd kissed her back. Twice. She'd been driven purely by emotion, and he... well, that was a mystery and one that was likely best left unsolved. What she'd done, in any case, was wrong. It'd been driven by passion of the acutest kind, and she hadn't even bothered putting a stop to it. Not yet, but soon they'd be separated, both of them going on solo missions to give her as much time and space was necessary for her feelings to... weaken, perhaps. After that, they'd be back to normal... or so she hoped.

A heavy sigh made it past her lips just as their ship came into view, and she walked ahead to enter first.

Sherlock had very little experience with the feeling of awkwardness. He'd learnt it came in many forms. From messing up in a sparring lesson as a youngling, to the fact that nearly everyone they encountered in the galaxy was as slow as a giant manthra snail. However the awkwardness he felt as they left the palace and headed back to their ship was unlike anything else he'd experienced. A day of firsts perhaps. For that had been his first kiss with that kind of…fire behind it. It'd been the first time he thought he might enjoy delving into that sort of activity. However, this all had to be properly stowed away. He was 'married to his work' as he said when he received the odd marriage proposal offworld. It'd happened before, and probably would again. But never mind that.

He decided he didn't want to talk about it, or at least he wasn't going to bring it up. So, he simply followed her into the ship and helped make preparations to leave. He snagged the med kit as well, settling into the copilot seat with a short huff of air before giving himself a short dose of morphine.

Natasha removed her cloak and wordlessly settled into the pilot seat, readying the cruiser for take off while Sherlock took care of himself. She didn't like the silence stretching between them, heavy and uncomfortable as it was. Normally they could go for hours without talking and it didn't matter. It was easy, and comfortable, and they both enjoyed the reprieve after spending so much time with people who did nothing _but_ talk. It was their version of comfort, and every single time they went to each other for it because no one could understand they way they did. They were kindred spirits that way.

It was different this time, because there was something there. Natasha wasn't sure if it was simply her reading too much into it, or if it was a normal side effect of what they'd done. Lack of experience, that was the problem. Sure there'd been offers before, she was aesthetically pleasing or so she'd been told on a few occasions. It wasn't something she felt was particularly important, but it was brought up nevertheless. As with everything else, she'd dismissed it. Barely giving it another thought.

And now, there she was, feeling like her one and only friend in the entire galaxy was slipping away from her and there was nothing she could do about it because she simply didn't know. As he would say, she didn't like not knowing. Perhaps an attempt at something... normal, was in order. Ship ready, she spared a glance his way and lifted off. "You should visit the healers at the Temple as soon as we touch down," she commented. "John and Molly will likely be close by, but I'll bring them over if not."

"And get the usual lecture? No thank you." Sherlock said, tossing the empty syringe back at the open medkit and then closing it with the Force using the flick of his finger. "I don't like going to the healers, John and Molly worry enough as is, and they are barely padawans. I'll be fine. Little bacta, little sleep, and I'll be ready to go." He paused, his expression darkening slightly. For he was a bit annoyed, and betrayed at the fact. "Not like it matters to you. You'll be off on your own."

There'd been too many things that had happened, all at once. From the nearly dying, to the kisses, to the news that she didn't want to work with him in the coming future…his normally quick mind was a mess of information and emotions. And it was confusing, which would cause him to put up barriers and lash out.

If Natasha had been the sort of person who winced, she would've. As it was, however, she could and would take a considerable amount of abuse without so much as batting an eye. Guilt was eating at her, though, and that particular comment felt well deserved even though it wasn't. And because it wasn't, she wouldn't let it slide. Not from him, and not at that moment. "I requested it, but it hasn't been approved. Yet." She turned sharp green eyes his way. "And if I did, I had my reasons, you know that. It doesn't mean you don't matter to me. You know you do." She turned her eyes ahead as she readied them to go into hyperspace. "So don't snap at me."

"You requested it." Sherlock repeated with a small unamused shake of his head as he turned at met her eyes with a serious expression. "And whatever those 'reasons' that you keep talking about, they are rather stupid….one, you never said what they are, and two, apparently the fact that I 'matter' to you, means you're leaving me alone. Perhaps you should reevaluate."

"They're _my_ reasons, Sherlock," Natasha said tightly. "This is one thing you _don't_ get to know about me, try and see if you can respect that." It was another first, naturally. She rarely, if ever, kept anything from him. She trusted him completely, so there was never any need. Until now. "But it won't be forever," she continued in a slightly softened tone. "Just for a little while, until I'm... no longer compromised." Stars stretched into streaks, and a long while later Natasha leaned back in her chair and reached up to pull her hair out of her braid. "I can put it another way..." She said quietly. "If... If you knew there was something that could hurt me, and walking away from me would prevent it... wouldn't you walk away?"

Sherlock's face shifted to a small scowl, his eyes darting over her in an attempt to deduce. "So you're walking away from me, because there's something you won't tell me, and it would hurt me." He clarified and then huffed a bit out his nose. "Like I said…stupid. But fine. Anything you want. But next time you decide to walk away, let's not experiment physically right after."

"Experiment. Interesting choice of words," Natasha said thoughtfully, running her fingers through her long, loose hair without looking his way. That one had hurt more than she cared to admit, but she refused to let it show on her face. "You weren't exactly pushing me away, though, were you? As a matter of fact I remember quite the opposite, and I _also_ remember asking you to delete it." She paused. "But if you do truly regret it, then I apologize for kissing you. It won't happen again, you have my word." Another pause. "Not that I'll be walking away a second time, once will hopefully be enough."

Sherlock huffed again out his nose. "Right. Once." He sat and stewed a moment, trying to work through his reaction in the moment in an attempt to justify it. "No apologies necessary, perhaps it's best if we both delete that. No need to dwell." He said lightly. "There's no place for that, it's a distraction. Easily put aside, because we have work to do…separately."

Sherlock was right about two things, at least. It was a distraction and there was no place for it, not for people like them who still had work to do. He was wrong about the rest of it, though. At least where _she_ was concerned. It wasn't something that she could easily put aside, and she couldn't delete it. Wrong and selfish as it was, she wanted to keep it and whether it would help or hurt in the long run, it didn't matter. Losing that memory was just too cruel, and she knew all about cruelty. Her Master had made sure of that.

"Right. Easily put aside," she spoke out loud, impassive mask faltering only for a moment at the thought of him just putting it out of his mind as if it was nothing. To him, it probably was. She knew him well enough to know that. Closing her eyes, she slowly ran her fingers through her hair again in the usual attempt to find her balance before she tipped over the edge altogether. "I'll delete it too and we can both put it behind us." Pause. "Satisfied?"

"As much as I can be, considering." Sherlock said impassively, annoyed at the entire thing. Annoyed at his own emotions that had decided to make themselves known. Annoyed at the thing he couldn't figure out and she wasn't telling him. Annoyed that he had reciprocated, despite being glad he did. It was all a mess and he was more than frustrated at it. Sherlock Holmes could read people in an instant, but sorting through the rivers of his own emotions was too much for him. He couldn't understand it. Perhaps because he hadn't been the one worried his only friend was going to die, and maybe someday he'd actually discover that. He'd find himself in a place where he fully understood his reaction, and want to see what happened next.

But for now, he simply crossed his arms and pouted. Like the mature adult Jedi Knight he was. He needed to find peace, needed to find his calm. And that wasn't going to be found here, apparently. Tension in the air.

In the moment of silence that followed, Natasha kept her eyes closed as she disconnected from her surroundings and the pout Sherlock was surely sporting just a short distance beside her. It wasn't difficult to do, Natasha was used to tuning out hard times by then. Hard times as a young girl of twelve chosen for training by a violent man needing an outlet. Hard times that had made her the talented and knowledgeable warrior she was, at the cost pain, and isolation, and endless nights in a cramped little space Ivan Petrovich, the Knight who'd trained her, only referred to as the 'red room'. There'd been plenty of red in that room, her own. But perhaps her memory played tricks on her, and she always refused to dwell on those days for too long.

Ultimately, Natasha was a survivor. She'd survived her training at his hands, she'd survived his later defection into the Dark side, and she'd survived the battle with him afterwards sporting only a minor scar. That all those events had made her cautious, guarded and withdrawn was to be expected. When people kept their distance then, suspecting her to be the same as Ivan, it had been painful but secondary. She knew she'd survive, and there were more important things to do.

Work took precedence for her, and perhaps that was what drew her to Sherlock in the first place. His complete and total dedication to bigger and better things. It was a welcome surprise that he turned into more than just an understanding partner. He became her confidant, and her friend, and the one person in the galaxy she trusted not just with her life but with who she was, both past and present...

And she'd almost lost him to a chest full of shrapnel not two days before, along with everything she'd worked for as both a padawan and a Knight of the Order. Her feet had danced on the edge for those two days, she knew. Killed seven mercenaries to get him out, and seriously considered going after the rest to give them the slow, bloody deaths she was sure they deserved. Fear, anger, revenge. Hard to believe those feelings came from something that felt as natural and familiar as love did after years of living with it, despite not truly knowing what it was.

Standing from his chair, and wobbling a bit with the drug's effects, Sherlock muttered. "I need the loo."

Natasha half opened her eyes when he spoke but still didn't look his way. "Do you need me to help you, or can you manage?"

"I think I can manage." Sherlock stopped, his hand on the back of his chair to balance himself. He pinched his eyes closed, taking a moment to center himself, both physically and mentally. A deep breath, and he spoke, quietly. "I'm sorry." He apologized. It wasn't something he did very often, because there were very few instances where he thought he was in the wrong. But he could do it with her and not feel like an idiot. He continued, pausing slightly each time. "I'm sorry for snapping…I'm sorry I don't understand…and I'm sorry you feel like you have to walk away." Another pause, this one longer. "I'm not…exactly sure what happened there…my reaction especially….but we…we can't. We can't do that again."

Natasha did turn to him while he spoke, studying him for a moment before her lips curved into a small, sad smile. "I know," she agreed when he was finished. "I gave you my word before and I meant it. It won't happen again, I... I shouldn't have kissed you in the first place." She paused, eyes closing momentarily before she rose to her feet. "I'm going to bed."

Sherlock didn't move, still standing next to his chair. He looked her over, his expression softening more that he'd let it since she first snuggled up to him in the hospital bed. He could just reach over and touch her, take her hand and pulled her with him to climb into bed. He thought about what it'd feel like to hold her to his chest. To fall asleep to the soft sounds of her breathing. And not just across the room, but in his arms…alright, that needed to stop. Thoughts were distracting and dangerous, and would interfere with his work. _Their_ work.

Maybe this distance would be good. He could put a bit more time into John's training. Take him out on missions alone, just the two of them. Not forever…just a bit of time. Hopefully. He wasn't sure how to respond other than a simple nod of his head. "I'll…I think I'll be up for a bit. I need to…think."

Natasha nodded once in reply, purposefully moving towards the door before coming to a stop and turning toward him. "Sherlock..." She began, but the words were cut off by her suddenly tight throat. She swallowed, hesitating a beat before slipping out the door. "Wake me up if you need anything."

The words were thrown over her shoulder as she hurried back to their sleeping quarters, refusing as she was to break down in front of him. He wouldn't be following her in there for a while, so she took her time peeling off her robes before slipping into her bed and curling up on her side.

For the hundredth time, she told herself she was doing the right thing, for her and for him. During their separation after, she would do that repeatedly. Before every mission when the temptation to call him threatened to overwhelm any and all logic; after every mission when she needed a reminder of how easy everything was when she was with him; in dangerous situations when she wasn't sure her occasionally appointed partner, Clint Barton, would be able to keep up long enough for them to make it out alive; in the quiet of her sleeping quarters when she couldn't put herself to sleep long enough to get some rest.

In that moment, though, when she was still curled on her side and fresh off their mission; when everything was still too recent and too close to think through with any amount of clarity; in that moment... she barely made it through half of her argument before she was crying for the second time in as many days.


End file.
